


Anderson's Ghosts

by notarelationship (justpracticing)



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justpracticing/pseuds/notarelationship
Summary: Blaine Anderson needs a little help from some Christmas spirits.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 32
Kudos: 51
Collections: Klaine Advent 2019





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the 2019 Klaine Advent taking place on tumblr. I'll post every few days as a 'chapter' with the advent words listed at the beginning.
> 
> achievement, beer, creed, date, emergency, fist

“Blainey Blaine Blaine!”

Blaine sighed and pushed back from his desk. He had hoped to leave before Cooper showed up to harass him. His brother was always so cheerful, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Coop.” Blaine grimaced.

“I came to collect you. It’s Christmas Eve after all.” 

“Hardly an **achievement** to flip another day on the calendar.” 

“Always such a Scrooge you are,” Cooper scolded. “Come on, we’re having a party at my house. We’d love to have you.”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “I very much doubt that.”

“Blaine, you shouldn’t be alone on the anniversary of Dad’s death. It’s been seven years Blaine. And it’s Christmas.”

“Christmas is just another day, Coop.”

\--

Once he was rid of Cooper, Blaine went back to his paperwork. He never left the office before eleven and Christmas eve was no reason to break that habit. Besides, he had paperwork to finish up before finalizing the purchase of Hummel Tire & Lube on the 26th.

He was shuffling through the final purchase agreement when Sam knocked on his door.

“Come in.” 

“Oh, hi Mr. Anderson.”

“You were expecting to find someone else?”

“What? No. Just you. You’re always here.” Blaine waited. He knew what Sam was working up to. “Um, about tomorrow?”

“What about tomorrow?”

“You said you’d think about it, my request? For the day off?”

Blaine frowned. “I imagine all you’ll do all day is think about not being at work anyway.” Blaine sighed. If only everyone would just do what he wanted, everything would go much smoother. “Fine. Go off, have a beer or whatever it is you do.”

Sam laughed. “If I stop to have a **beer** on Christmas Eve before I get home Mercedes will have my neck.”

Blaien shrugged whatever. “Be here on the 26th, for the Hummel deal. I need you to do the bank run.”

Sam opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something, but wisely thought better of it.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Anderson.”

\--

Anderson Capital Inc. was located in an office building in the center of town, not that there was so much town that it could reasonably be expected to have a center.

But it did, and so when the church bells - which were located in a church that was also located in the center of town - struck eleven, Blaine put down his pen, logged off of his computer, and opened the bottom drawer of his desk only to find an empty bottle that had once been filled with bourbon.

“Damn it.”

One of the things Mr. Anderson Sr. always insisted on was having a personal driver. Part of the Anderson family **creed** , he would tell Blaine, to always hold yourself unapproachable by those who might want something from you. So the Anderson home was the most expensive home in Lima, and it was the furthest away from the Anderson Tower (where Anderson Capitol Inc. was located), and every day Mr. Anderson would ride in his car, being driven around town like a modern day Henry Potter, as if Lima were a town anything like Bedford Falls.

When Blaine took over the company he fired the driver. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because Blaine Anderson didn’t need a driver. He didn’t live in the big house at the edge of town, he opted to live in the penthouse apartment on the top floor of Anderson Towers, which, in all honesty, served to make him even more unapproachable than his dad had been. There was no need to keep paying the driver if there was nothing to drive. He pretended to assume his dad would have been happy about at least one of those facts.

But none of that changed the fact that Blaine was going to have to walk to the liquor store if he wanted a nightcap. 

\--

Blaine took the elevator to the ground floor. The building was of course open all night, should any of the employees of Anderson Capital wish to put in extra hours, but there was no one in the building at this hour, other than the night receptionist at security, and Blaine nodded at him when he walked out the front doors. 

Blaine walked down the festive block to the liquor store he knew would be open, and made his purchase. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Anderson,” said the clerk as he handed Blaine back the plastic he used to purchase his spirits.

“I know the **date** ,” Blaine grumbled, taking his package and heading back out into the street.

Main Street should have been empty, and would have been on any other evening at this hour, but for some reason Christmas Eve celebrations in Lima went late into the evening. It was bad enough that everyone wanted the day off on Christmas, Blaine thought, but they couldn’t even keep their celebrations behind closed doors. 

So Blaine walked past the people gathering for the midnight Christmas tree lighting, and the high school kids out passing out hot chocolate - all of them out far too late, and a group of carolers dressed as Mrs. Claus, singing medleys of someone’s Christmas favorites. 

Blaine stopped a safe distance away, watching the carolers for a few moments, wondering what could possess grown adults that would make them want to stand in the freezing cold singing novelty songs for strangers.

By the time Blaine arrived at the door to his apartment he was cold and wet, and had already unscrewed the top from his bottle and taken a few swigs. He stared at the door before entering. 

His father had built two apartments on the top floor, expecting both of his sons would eventually live there. Cooper refused (“they look like military barracks” he’d protested). BUt they suited Blaine just fine. He didn’t have visitors (other than the occasional, nearly anonymous, hookup), though it wouldn’t have mattered if he did. 

The one exception to the Spartan decor was the door knocker Jacob Anderson had hung on the door to the apartment. It was an intricate head of a lion, far too large for the door. It cost upwards of $10,000, and Blaine thinks it likely that his bought it from someone who had pirated it away from it’s rightful owners. Blaine often stared at it, since it was too large and too tacky to outright ignore. Nothing about it was unfamiliar.

And yet, as Blaine stood in the hall, staring at the knocker, it seemed to transform before his eyes until, instead of a lions head, the face on the knocker was unmistakably that of his father, Jacob Anderson.

\--

“What the --” Blaine blinked, but the knocker still held the distinct image of his father’s face, unmistakably so. Even after all this time, the disapproving ‘v’ of his brow and the thin line of his mouth could crush Blaine’s spirit in a flash.

Did he drink more than he thought? Blaine looked down at the bottle of Benchmark he held in his left hand - it didn’t seem so, only the few gulps he’d indulged in on his way home seemed to be missing.

Blaine closed his eyes tight, counting to ten. The last thing he needed right now was the ghost of his father telling him he hadn’t sacrificed enough for the family business. Blaine had nothing left to give. 

When he opened them again, the door knocker was back to its gaudy, tasteless, original form. Maybe he was just tired, and the anniversary of his father’s death was playing tricks on his mind. He just needed a few hours sleep and he’d be fine. He let himself in, deciding to take his bottle to his room and watch television until sleep took him.

But Blaine had let down his guard, and the door slammed loudly behind him. The noise made his heart leap into his throat as it echoed throughout the apartment. 

“Get it together Blaine,” he mumbled, walking through the dark rooms until he reached his bedroom. He didn’t bother turning a light on, just flicked on the television bathing the room in long shadows. He didn’t change into pajamas - Blaine had long ago given them up - he just stripped down to his underwear and sat on his bed, with his bottle and a glass on the side table.

Blaine flipped the channels on his television, bored with everything offered. He passed real housewives and holiday specials, old movie and local news. Nothing worth looking at, yet he didn’t stop. 

He shot upright in bed at the sound of a loud siren, so loud it felt like it was inside of his apartment. It took more than a few seconds for Blaine to realize that what he was hearing was the sound of some sort of **emergency** vehicle out in the street. He shook his head, running a hand through messy hair. 

Blaine picked up the television remote intending to shut it off. He might as well turn in. Sleep would bring the entire debacle of a holiday closer to ending. But when he pointed it at the television, he noticed that the program currently playing was some old black and white science fiction series - complete with cheap costumes and cheaper sets. As he stared, one particular actor began to look familiar. Unbelievably, this actor resembled his father. So much so that Blaine could not bring himself to turn off the television, or even to look away. When the camera angle changed, Blaine choked a noise into the silence. The actor on the screen didn’t look like his father, the actor _was_ his father.

As Blaine continued to stare, the image that was his father appeared to get closer and closer, and the image on the television smaller and smaller, until his father literally appeared in Blaine’s bedroom. 

“Who are you?” Baine asked. It could not be his father. Jacob Anderson had died seven years ago this very night. Also he appeared from the television. Blaine must have had too much to drink. “ _What_ are you?”

“Better you ask who I _was_ ,” the image asked. “Don’t you recognize me, son?”

\--

“It can’t be,” Blaine said, even while he leapt from his bed and pulled on a bathrobe. “You are a shadow of my memories,” he sputtered. “You are not real.” 

The apparition frowned; an expression so exactly like his father that Blaine took a step back. “You may believe your eyes, or not. I am what I am.” 

Blaine glanced at the bottle on his table then back. The image - no, _ghost_ , seemed to be deteriorating before Blaine’s eyes. Before it had seemed whole, but ragged, dressed in the costume of the television character. But now his posture was slumped, the rags that covered him were a dingy gray-green, and showed bones beneath them. Not limbs covered with skin so thin you could see the shapes of bones underneath, but _actual_ bones. If this was a dream he couldn’t wake himself from, he could at least try to hurry it to its end. “What do you want?”

“Only to help you avoid my fate, Blaine.”

“And what is that? Your fate?” 

“I’ve been condemned. Condemned to wander the earthy and witness what I can no longer share, but could have if I had taken the time in my life.”

“I don’t understand,” Blaine said. “What does that mean? ‘Witness what I can no longer share.’”

“I wasted all of my life, in pursuit of money, in pursuit of success. I alienated your mother, and your brother. I smothered the best parts of you son, and made you just like me.” 

Blaine’s chest constricted. All he ever wanted was his father’s approval, but he was never good enough. Blaine received no praise from his father before he had died. “I made my choices”

The ghost raised his arm, causing the sleeve of his rags to fall open. Blaine could see for the first time huge chains held in his **fist** , through his sleeve and all of his clothing. The ghost rattled them with a force that echoed all through the small apartment. 

“Those were not your choices,” he bellowed, chains rattling. “They were mine. But you can choose now.” 

“Choose what? If I’m destined to end up like you, how can I possibly change my fate?”

“Show mercy, kindness, compassion to those around you. There is still time for you to change things in life. To have what is right in front of you, but something could not see until it was out of reach.” The ghost paused, as if to give Blaine time to reject whatever was to come. “You will be haunted,” the ghost said, “by three spirits.”

Blaine hugged himself, shaking his head. “Is that all?” He muttered.

“The first will come tomorrow, at one am. The second will come the next night, and the third will come the third night. Heed their warnings, son.”

“Can’t I just promise to do better?”

The ghost said nothing, just walked toward the bedroom window; the window opening as he got closer. He beckoned Blaine with a boney finger. What he saw astonished Blaine. Everywhere he looked he saw ghosts, spirits, phantoms, swirling around as if riding the air. Their faces were twisted, silently wailing, their arms reaching out as if touch something that remained forever too far away. Blaine shuddered. The entire scene looked like something out of a horror movie. Blaine turned to his right to ask the ghost what it all meant, but he was gone, and when Blaine looked out the window the entire display was gone. As if it had never been there at all.

Blaine rubbed his eyes. It had to have been a dream. He was simply sleepwalking and if he just went back to bed he would wake up tomorrow with only a vague memory of the whole ordeal. He looked at the clock - it was late, after two am. He checked the locks on his door, just in case, he told himself, and crawled back into his bed, falling asleep instantly. 


	2. The First Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaine Advent words in this chapter: ground, hiccup, interrupt, joy, kinship

When Blaine woke the room around him was nearly pitch black. There was no light streaming in from the streets outside. His television was, mercifully, turned off. there wasn’t even any light from his phone. The only light in the room was coming from the hallway, stealing into his bedroom through the crack under the door.

Blaine lay there, waiting to fall back to sleep. He could be a fitful sleeper; his general solitude didn’t leave him with too many places to put his thoughts (when he had them). Blaine’s mind drifted back to earlier. He was sure that whatever he’d experienced last night had been a dream, but there was something gnawing at his stomach, making him unable to just roll over and go back to sleep. 

“Get out of my head, Dad,” he said into the darkness. “It’s just this anniversary that has me thinking of you.” Blaine paused, not believing what he was about to say, but still needing to say it, needing to **ground** his thoughts in reality. “Ghosts aren’t real!” He practically shouted it, surprising himself. “I know ghosts aren’t real,” he said again, this time quieter, to no one but himself. 

As if needing to prove this to himself, Blaine reached blindly for the phone on his side table. It had to tell him it was nearly four am; it was after two when the -- when he --

 _BONG!_ The church bell clanged outside.

“Yes,” Blaine said aloud. The bells will stop at four and he can go back to sleep. 

_BONG!_

Blaine held his breath. Two more, then silence, then he could definitely get back to sleep. He needed to be up in two hours to get to the office anyway.

_BONG!_

Okay. One more. 

_BONG!_

Blaine exhaled. He’d dreamt it, he could go back to sleep. It really was just the anniversary that was messing with his -

_BONG!_

What? Okay. Maybe it was later than he thought. He could just look at his phone screen and solve the mystery he could -

_BONG!_

Blaine held his breath, the seconds stretching seemingly into an hour.

_BONG!_

It was definitely not seven am. All he could do now was wait, counting the chimes that would tell him whether he was dreaming a nightmare or living some madness. He couldn’t look at his phone now, he couldn’t trust his eyes. 

Again and again he counted the rings of the church bell, until they reached twelve, and they stopped. He knew he could not have slept through until noon the next day - that was impossible. Even after a particularly difficult night, with too much alcohol and the wrong partner in his bed, Blaine had never slept so late. The street below was silent, all of the earlier celebrations having turned in in anticipation of the morning’s Christmas cheer.

Blaine waited. The longer the minutes stretched with no visitor or apparition or spirit or ghost - or whatever, the easier his mind could be --

“Hello.”

Blaine sat upright in bed to find a young woman sitting cross legged on the end of his bed. She had blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, and she was wearing something that looked like a bizarre cross between a cheerleader’s uniform and a sexy-Mrs. Santa costume. 

“Sorry I’m late.”

\--

“How did you get in here? The doors were locked when I went to bed.” She looked too real to be a ghost, or a spirit. There was still a chance he had dreamed it all. “Did the agency send you? It has to be some kind of **hiccup** , I didn’t call over for anyone tonight.” It was a better explanation than what he was afraid of, and it wouldn’t have been the first time they accidentally sent a woman over instead of a guy.

“Agency?” She looked confused. “I don’t think so? Some guy in a robe sent me over.” She lowered her voice, as if she were whispering and didn’t want anyone else to hear. “He didn’t smell great.”

Once again, Blaine didn’t understand what was happening, but this woman didn’t seem dangerous, and she really didn’t seem like she was a ghost. “Well, I don’t know how you got in, but you should go. It’s late and I need to get back to sleep.”

Blaine slipped off the bed, wrapping the bathrobe he had fallen asleep in around him. “After you,” he said, opening the bedroom door.

“I can’t go that way,” she said.

“Pardon me? The door is this way.” 

“No - I mean, I’m sure your door is that way - whatever that means, but I can’t leave until I show you some things.”

“Really you don’t have to do that,” Blaine objected. “I’m gay, they sent you here by mistake.”

“Oh!” The woman threw her head back and laughed. “I’m not here for that silly.” She unfolded her legs and stood in front of Blaine. He hadn’t noticed before, but the cheerleader uniform she was wearing was blackened along the skirt’s hem as if it had been set on fire; the sleeves of her Mrs. Santa costume were torn, exposing large gashes on her arms, her white faux fur collar stained dark. There was blood dripping down her neck that seemed to be coming from behind here ear. She stuck out her hand, inviting him to shake it. “My name is Brittany. I’m here to show you your Christmases past.”

“My Christmases...what do you mean?”

“Take my hand, Blaine Anderson, and I’ll show you everything.”

\--

Blaine felt like he was spinning and falling and doing a somersault all at the same time. A tiny voice in his head was still convinced that this was all a dream, but whatever electromagnetic field that connected his stomach to his brain, was going to be sick for real. 

Just when he thought he couldn’t take it one more second, they stopped. When Blaine could gather his senses he realized they were standing on a familiar front porch.

“I hope this is the right place.” She turned to him with a cheery smile on her face. “Let’s go inside!”

“What what? We can’t go in. I don’t even know who lives here?”

“Oh, Blaine. You live here,” she said, then pulled him completely through solid wood of the front door and into the entryway of the house Blaine grew up in. “I’d say we shouldn’t **interrupt** , but I don’t think anyone can hear us.” 

Blaine followed Brittany around the wide center staircase and into the family room. She stopped in the doorway and he stood next to her, neither of them crossing the threshold as they watched the scene in front of them.

“I remember this Christmas,” Blaine said, nearly whispering. He watched his eight year old self opening presents, nearly crawling under the tree to find all of the packages. Cooper was on the floor next to him, too involved in opening his own gifts to pay much attention to Blaine. Their mother was sitting on the couch, watching them both and smiling. Their dad was nowhere to be seen. 

Blaine watched as his younger self opened a box of child sized bow ties. “I loved those,” he said, and he could hear the wonder in his own voice. “Dad - dad thought they were dumb, but he wasn’t there that year, he was on a business trip.” Blaine wiped a tear with the back of his hand. “My grandparents came over later and we had roast beef, and then I ate too many Christmas cookies and threw up in the middle of the night.” Blaine choked a laugh.

“You look happy,” Brittany said.

“Yeah. I was.”

They stood watching a few more minutes, then Brittany touched his elbow. “Time to go.”

He didn’t want to leave, but he knew he couldn’t stay here forever. Blaine swallowed, nodding. 

“Where to next?”

Brittany shrugged and took his hand. The feeling wasn’t quite as disorienting this time, as they moved through time, and when they landed in a giant marble floored hallway Blaine recognized immediately where they were. 

“Dalton!”

Blaine had loved going to school at Dalton. He loved the uniforms and playing lacrosse and the friends he’d made there. He even loved studying in the dark panelled library and the always lively common rooms. It had been years since he’d seen any of his Dalton friends. He follows Brittany down the quiet hall, decorated with poinsettia and garlands for Christmas. 

They stop again at the entry to a room Blaine knows well. He and other members of the Dalton Academy Warblers used to hang out in this room and practice and study and cause the mildest of mayhem. Brittany tilts her head, and he looks across the room. 

His younger self is there, talking to a boy it takes him only seconds to identify, his heart pounding. “ _Kurt!_ ”

Brittany says nothing, but he watches, remembering this moment the second it happens again, and he watches himself sing and flirt with the other boy. Every tendril of memory of this moment digs into his chest and squeezes. He can’t remember the last time he’d been as happy as he was here. 

“He was in love with you, you know.”

Blaine shakes his head in disbelief. “But he left.”

\--

Brittany nodded. “Dalton wasn’t for him.” 

Blaine swallowed, watching a young Kurt Hummel dance circles around Blaine as Blaine chased him around the room. It was the last time he’d felt any real **joy** about Christmas. He wasn’t able to put words to the feelings he had for Kurt then, but he still felt how much he’d missed him after he left. 

“We should leave,” Blaine said. Leaving this moment was the last thing he wanted. 

She took his hand. “Okay. One more then I have to get you home.”

Blaine closed his eyes and waited for the now familiar sensation of being whooshed through time or space or whatever was happening. He didn’t really care if he ever found out. When he finally opened his eyes, he knew exactly where he was. 

They had stopped in his office - well, at the time they were visiting it wasn’t his office yet, it was his father’s. It was Christmas Eve morning seven years ago. Jacob Anderson died later that night. Blaine was only twenty four then.

_“Blaine I expect you in tomorrow to make sure all of the paperwork is completed. We have a very important meeting the day after Christmas on the purchase of that auto repair chain, and we’ll have to announce which branches are closing to complete the purchase. I want recommendations on my desk by tomorrow afternoon so their counsel can confirm the price. I don’t need to tell you how important this is Blaine.”_

Blaine couldn’t remember how he’d felt at the time. Resigned? Maybe. Looking at himself now he thought he just looked empty. By this time, Cooper had moved to California. Blaine still saw his mother, but she had divorced Jacob Anderson a few years earlier, and his father had no one. Blaine didn’t have many close friends either. He’d gone to work for his father as soon as he’d finished school, and the hours didn’t leave much time for a life even then. Was that why Blaine stayed with him? Accepted his requirements for success? He couldn’t even remember. 

“I don’t need to see any more,” He told Brittany.

“That’s good, because I think I need to get back.” She tilted her head as if she was trying to hear something. “I think someone is calling my name.” In a blink they were back in Blaine’s apartment. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Brittany nodded. “How did you die? Do you remember?”

“Oh.” She looked suddenly very confused. “I don’t think I -- I can’t --” She hadn’t taken a step, but stumbled, putting her hand out on a chair to keep from falling. “I’m not --” She stopped, gathering herself and standing upright again. He eyes clear and focused, she looked directly at Blaine and said, “There’s still time, Blaine.”

And then she was gone.

\--

Blaine dropped into the armchair that Brittany had been leaning on just a moment before, trying to process what he had just experienced. As illogical as it all seemed when he was sitting here thinking about it, Blaine couldn’t deny the real feelings the visit to the past had stirred up.

At one time Dalton Academy had been the most important thing in his life. A sanctuary that had made him feel so safe. The **kinship** he felt with his classmates for those few years was as strong, stronger maybe than anything he’d felt for his family. _Dalton_ had been his family.

But his Dalton friends had faded away. Blaine had left them behind - had left everything behind - in an effort to make his father proud of him. It hadn’t worked, and Blaine had just become more isolated and humorless. More arrogant. 

Then there was Kurt Hummel. Kurt had been at Dalton only a short time, and Blaine had been so smitten with him. He hadn’t done anything about it of course - they were so young, and Blaine knew even then his father wouldn’t have approved. To find out now that Kurt had felt the same way - even if it had just been a teenage infatuation, it was silly to even think about. 

Still, seeing Kurt, that young, happy boy, pulled on something inside Blaine that he thought he’d lost. 

“He’d never speak to me again,” Blaine said aloud - to himself and to no one. “Not that I could blame him.” 

When the church bells started to chime - midnight again, Blaine assumed, he got up to change his clothes. He’d spent the entire trip with Brittany in his underwear and a robe, so he went to his closet and pulled on a t shirt and sweatpants. He was bending over to put on his sneakers when he felt a bottomless cold seep into his room. 

“Nice ass,” he heard behind him. When he turned around there was another young woman, dressed the same as Brittany had been - Mrs. Santa but as a cheerleader - and her clothes torn and blackened. Blaine could see a gash on her forehead, at her hairline, that was covered in dried blood. “I’ve gotta admit, I thought you’d be taller.”


	3. The Second Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaine Advent words in this chapter: lecture, monument, nest, overwhelm, part

“Let’s get the introductions out of the way. My name is Santana, and I’m here to take you on a tour of Christmases present. Like, now. Today.” She held out her hand, like Brittany had done.

He didn’t take it. “Blaine Anderson.”

“Yeah I know,” she paused, looking puzzled, “But I don’t remember who told me.” 

“Whatever you’re here to show me, it doesn’t matter. I’m ready to change.” Blaine understood that he couldn’t go back, couldn’t change the things he’d done - or the things he’d failed to do, but he could be better starting now. “Is there any chance we can skip this lesson and I can promise to be a different man in the morning?”

Santana snorted a laugh. “Not a chance Hobbit. I’ve got a job to do, and I need you to do it.” She looked Blaine up and down, like she was trying to read through him, then held out her hand again. “Are you ready?”

Blaine signed. “If I have no choice.”

“Nope,” she said, popping the _p_ as Blaine took her hand.

Either traveling with Santana was completely different than traveling with Brittany, or he had gotten used to the experience, because Blaine blinked and he was standing in the living room of his brother’s house. 

The house was full of people he didn’t know, a few he recognized as Cooper’s friends. Blaine remembered that Cooper had invited him to a party earlier that afternoon. 

“Do you know any of these people?” Santana asked skeptically. 

Blaine shook his head, wandering from that room to another. “Not really. They’re my brother’s friends.” He found Cooper in the kitchen, his arm around a woman Blaine had never met, talking to a few people. Blaine wondered if this was Cooper’s girlfriend, and if he’d have ever gotten around to telling Blaine that he had one.

“Did you invite your brother again this year?” One of the men asked, but the tone in his voice suggested he was asking as a joke, not because he had any interest in Blaine’s well being. 

“Yeah, of course,” Cooper answered, his face clouding for an instant. Blaine noticed the woman give Cooper a supportive squeeze.

“I imagine he was working,” another answered. 

“Just as well,” said the first man. “I don’t really need another **lecture** on how I’m wasting my life teaching in a high school for the arts.”

“Did he actually say that to you?”

“Two years ago, at some city council meeting on a new property tax,” the man confirmed. 

Had Blaine met this person? He didn’t recognize him at all.

“Look,” Cooper said. “He’s my brother and he will always be welcome in my home. Do I wish he’d lighten up, enjoy his life before it’s passed him by? Of course. I hate seeing how much like our father he’s become. But I can’t make him want something better for himself. He has to get there on his own.” He paused to kiss the woman he was with on the top of her head. “Now would anyone like another drink?”

Blaine stood there as the party went on around him, Cooper pouring drinks for his guests, everyone laughing and having a good time. 

“I do want something else,” he said to himself. “I always have.” 

Santana appeared by his side. “Let’s go,” she said. “We’ve got another party to get to.”

Blaine nodded, but said nothing.

\--

They were standing on a street corner in a quiet Lima neighborhood that Blaine was unfamiliar with. 

“I don’t think we’re in the right place,” Santana said, concern wrinkling the dried blood on her forehead. “How did we miss it?” She turned to Blaine. “Do you know anyone who lives here?”

“I have no idea,” Blaine said. “I don’t know that many people. I know I’ve never been here.”

Santana put her hands on her hips and spun around in a circle several times, as if she was trying to pick a direction. When she started walking she moved so fast that Blaine had to jog to catch up to her. 

“Where are we supposed to be?” Blaine asked. “It can’t be my mother, she moved to Florida after she divorced my father. I don’t think I have any other relatives around here.” Santana said nothing, she just kept walking. After about three blocks she stopped in front of a small bungalow style house with an attached garage. They could see through the windows that the lights were on in all of the downstairs rooms, and a few of the upstairs ones as well. 

“Who lives here?” Blaine asked.

Santana gave him a withering look. “You may think you’re ready to change, Tweedle-Dum, but you’ve still got a lot of time to be spectacularly disappointed in yourself tonight, I think.” She grabbed his hand, leading him up the few steps to the porch and right through the front door and into the living room.

Blaine had no idea where he was. The living room was empty, but he could hear voices coming from another room. He followed them to find Sam Evans in the kitchen with his wife, Mercedes. There were two children running around and Sam was trying to keep them from getting in Mercedes’ way.

“You have known that man since you were both nine years old.” Mercedes was talking to Sam while she darted around putting finishing touches on what looked like a whole turkey. There were bowls and containers of traditional side dishes on the table. “I do not understand why he makes you call him Mr. Anderson, even if it is only at work. It’s not like you ever see him outside of the office any more.” 

Sam looked slightly pained. “He’s not like he used to be, ‘Cedes, you know that. Sometimes it’s like we were never even friends at all.”

Blaine hugged himself. He had met Sam playing little league baseball when they were kids. Sam had been there for him when he came out to his family, when he’d gotten beaten up at school for it. They had drifted apart when Blaine went to Dalton, but never completely. 

“Here, put some of those sides in this rubbermaid so we can take them to the Hummel’s tomorrow,” She said, handing Sam a few containers. “Was his dad really that terrible? To make Blaine turn out like this? I’ve met his brother and he seems like a perfectly fine man.”

“Yeah, I just think Blaine felt a lot of pressure, he didn’t want to be a disappointment.” Sam snapped the lid on a container. “That turkey looks amazing, babe,” he said, peeking over her shoulder. “Like a turkey **monument** to Burt Hummel”

Mercedes made a face at Sam, then laughed. “What does that even mean? No one eats monuments. You are so strange sometimes.” Sam kissed her, then shooed the kids out into the dining room. “I’m just glad you got tomorrow off,” Mercedes went on. “We should get over there around three. You are in charge of getting the kids ready.”

“That’s all you get,” Santana said, appearing beside him. Before Blaine could object she slipped her hand in his and they were gone. 

\--

This time, when Blaine opened his eyes they were in the common room of the Lima General Hospital children’s ward. They were obviously decorating for a Christmas party. Paper stockings with names written in glitter lettering hung all along the window sill. At one end of the room there was an artificial Christmas tree that some of the kids were decorating with an assortment of ornaments, some store bought and some hand made. At the other hospital helpers were setting up a table with as assortment of treats for the children. 

“I get that this is all very sad,” Blaine said. “But why am I here?” 

Santana glared at him. “It is Christmas Eve and these are _children_ in a _hospital_. I thought you told me you were ready to turn over a new leaf, be a better person.” Santana shook her head at him. “If you can’t open your heart to these children now, what’s it going to take?”

“Did I do something to these kids?” He asked. “Deny them some funding? Refuse to pay for this party? Because if I did that, I am sorry, and I promise that I will make up for it.” Santana didn’t answer though, because she had wandered out of the room and into the hallway. Blaine was about to follow her when he felt a tug on the hem of his t-shirt. 

He looked down and saw a little girl with loose brown curls and huge blue eyes. She could have been anywhere between three and five, and she was holding the hem of his shirt with one hand. In the other she was holding up a Christmas ornament. Blaine stared at the girl.

“Can you see me?” He asked. The girl nodded and pointed to the tree, holding up the ornament again. Blaine took the ornament, holding it gingerly by the hook. It was an unusual piece, made of a small, palm sized **nest** with two yellow canaries ( _warblers_ , he thought to himself) perched on either side. There were three small, aqua, realistic looking canary eggs settled in the center of the nest. Blaine did not understand how this child could see him, but he hung the ornament on the tree as she directed. 

The air around him suddenly became very cold - so cold he could see his breath - and Blaine hugged himself for warmth. The room darkened, and Blaine looked desperately for his guide. 

“Hey keep up, hobbit. I don’t have all night.” 

Santana was standing in the doorway looking impatiently at him, and everything had returned to normal.

“That little girl could see me!” He practically shrieked. “She gave me an ornament and made me hang it on the tree. There were birds on it.”

Santana looked perplexed. “What girl?” 

“That -” Blaine spun around. She was no longer in the room. “She’s not here. Has that ever happened before? SOmeone saw you?”

“I dunno, you’re my first assignment.” Santana lead him back into the hospital corridor. “I think we should go that way.” 

Blaine turned in the direction she had pointed, but stopped short of following her when someone he thought he recognized but couldn’t place walked past them and down the hall in the other direction. Blaine followed him around the corner and watched him disappear into a room. Above the door was a sign with a name scrawled in black marker: _Hummel, B._

\--

Blaine rushed to the door, but he didn’t go into the room. 

Of course he knew Burt Hummel, he was about to purchase his struggling auto shop and fold it into the local chain owned by Anderson Capital. Blaine knew this was very likely to mean the current employees of Hummel Tire & Lube would wind up unemployed. He also knew that Burt Hummel was recovering from some health issues and was looking for some temporary funding to keep the shop running until he was fully recovered, and that he did not want to sell his shop to Anderson Capital. Blaine hadn’t cared about any of that. It was just another business transaction to him. 

Blaine was relieved to see Burt was awake and alert, even if he had tubes up his nose and in his arms. Burt was protesting as the man who had passed Blaine in the hallway fussed over him. Now that he saw him with Burt, it was obvious that this man was Kurt Hummel.

Standing there watching them interact, Blaine felt the same unfamiliar tug that he had felt earlier that night **overwhelm** him. He felt it when he had been watching his younger self chase Kurt around the Dalton common room, only it was stronger now, and clearer, and filled him with the unmistakable sense that he had missed something in his life that would have put him on a very different path. All he could do was hope that Brittany was right, that it wasn’t too late. 

“Do you know them?” Santana appeared behind him, but she kept turning her head to look down the hall.

Blaine shrugged without indicating yes or no. “Sort of.” Kurt said something that made Burt laugh, but for some reason Blaine couldn’t hear them. Other than Santana’s voice, all he heard was confused background noise. “I think -- I think I was supposed to know them. I hope I still can. I want to.” He turned to ask her where to next, but she had wandered away in the direction she had originally wanted to go. Blaine followed her until she stopped in the doorway of another hospital room. 

Blaine joined her, and saw in the room shocked him. It wasn’t someone from his childhood who he had wronged, or someone he’d bested in business who was now barely getting by. 

It was his guide, Santana. She was unconscious, and there were two nurses checking her vitals and making notes on a clipboard. “Santana?” 

Santana looked confused, and started shaking her head. The noise that had been keeping Blaine from understanding what Kurt and Burt were talking about faded away. He could almost hear the nurses, catching words like ‘carolers’ and ‘crash’ and ‘critical.’

And that’s when it hit him, why Brittany and Santana had looked so familiar. He had seen them earlier that evening, when he went out to the liquor store. They had been in the group of people who were singing Christmas carols for the Lima celebration. Apparently a car had skidded on some ice and jumped the curb, running over a mailbox before hitting the scattering crowd of people. Most of the injuries were minor, but three of them were in critical condition.

“No. No no no _no!_ ” Santana was chanting the word over and over, staring at herself in the bed. 

“You’re alive, Santana. Alive. And you’re in the hospital and being taken care of.” 

She glared at him, her face contorted in fear and anger, before running down the hall, looking in every room until she found what she was looking for. This time Blaine wasn’t surprised when he caught up with her. 

“Brit,” she choked out. Brittany looked in much worse condition than Santana had. There were more monitors and more nurses, and more things beeping. Santana turned to him. “Make this worth it, Anderson.” Then she pushed him, hard.

Blaine staggered backward, but instead of crashing back into the wall when he landed, he fell softly into the armchair in his living room. 

\--

“ _Wake up wake up wake up_.” Blaine pressed the heels of his palms hard into his eyes. Surely this was all a dream? He most definitely did not believe in ghosts or spirits or haunting, and everything that had happened tonight was beyond conceivable. It was just his brain trying to send him a message, he was sure of it.

Blaine paced the floor in the living room of his apartment. First there were the Hummels - Burt Hummel was on his mind because of their business dealings ( _you’re taking advantage of him_ ), so it wasn’t so strange that his unconscious mind would drift back to high school ( _back to Kurt. When was the last time he’d thought about Kurt?_ ). And Cooper. Cooper had visited him this very evening; and he saw Sam nearly every day, right in the office. While their relationship had changed over the years ( _mostly because of you. You were as close as brothers for a time_ ), it was hardly odd that Sam would be on Blaine’s mind.

And as for the _spirits_ , now that Blaine realized that he had seen them earlier that evening it made perfect sense that they’d played a **part** in his dream. He’d stopped to watch and listen to them caroling - just for a few moments, but that must have been long enough for his awake brain to have filed away their images. He didn’t even know if their names were really Santana and Brittany. He could have just made that up. Yes, that was it.

Knowing it was all a dream (and he did know it, right), didn’t entirely ease his mind, however. Blaine had been working to make Anderson Capital one of the most successful businesses in the state. Sure, he’d sacrificed a lot, but he’s succeeded, and that was what mattered. _That’s your father talking. Success at any price._ It didn’t matter whether or not he was happy; happiness was fleeting, success would last. ( _Will it though? Will you ever be satisfied? And what of the people who’ve suffered while you’ve prospered.)_

Blaine dropped into his armchair, knowing the answer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kind, shown compassion to another person. He just weighed and measured the business decision and went on with his life. Had it ever made him happy? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything but disinterest. It was time to leave his past in the past. There was a better man inside him and Blaine wanted to let him out. 

Church bells began to chime outside, and Blaine reflexively looked at the clock on the wall, thinking it must be nearly two am at this point. He was stunned to see that it was near midnight for the fourth time that night. 

“It can’t be,” Blaine said aloud. When the last bell chimed he looked around his apartment. There was no one in his kitchen or living room. Frozen, he looked toward his bedroom, where a low glow was slowly getting brighter. Blaine stood, not sure if he should go in, or if whatever was in there would come to him. “Who’s there?” He called out. “You can go, we don’t need to do this.”


	4. The Third Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaine Advent words in this chapter: quarrel, reasonable, speed

The light faded away, and standing in the doorway was a third young woman. Her blonde hair was cut in a bob and looked like it was matted against one side of her head. She wore the same Mrs. Santa/half cheerleader outfit that both Santana and Brittany had worn, with the same damage done. She’d obviously been one of the carolers. She didn’t say anything though, and as Blaine looked at her more closely he noticed her face was paler than either Santana’s or Brittany’s had been, and her jaw hung a little more slack, giving her a distinctly more otherworldly aura.

“I promise,” Blaine said. “I know I’ve wasted time, and I’ve...not been a very good person. I’ve neglected responsibilities to myself and to others. I recognize that.” 

The spirit made a motion that was sort of a shrug and sort of a shuffle, and held out her hand. Blaine stared at it, and sighed, and took it. 

_Hello Blaine Anderson._ She hadn’t opened her mouth, but he heard her voice clearly. 

“How did you…?” He asked, startled. She shook her head. “Do you have a name?”

The spirit half frowned, as if unsure, then squeezed Blaine’s hand. _Quinn._

“Okay, Quinn. Can I ask, again, do we need to do this? I can change. I _have_ changed.”

_**Quarrel** with me if you must, but your journey is unfinished. How can I know if you’ve taken anything you’ve seen tonight to heart? You could wake in the morning and blow it off like it was all a dream. Then we’d have failed._ She looked at him thoughtfully. _No, you need the reinforcement, I think._

If he had to see his future, he might as well get it over with. “Then let’s go.”

\--

“Sam’s house again?” Quinn just shrugged. They were in what looked like Sam and Mercedes’ bedroom, and Sam and Mercedes were having a somewhat heated discussion.

“He is not being **reasonable** Sam. I don’t care what he thinks he has going on, but one of your oldest friends -- and my best friend, is hurting right now. Blaine Anderson can live without you for a week.” Mercedes said. She put on jewelry, walking in and out of the attached bathroom while she continued. “And if that man cannot find the decency in his heart to let you take time off to help Kurt during this difficult time, well I think it’s time for you to start looking elsewhere for a job.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie, matching Mercedes’ black dress. They looked like they were going to a funeral. Blaine swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I know. You’ve been wanting me to quit for years,” Sam sounded sad and frustrated. “It’s not like there are tons of jobs in Lima ‘Cedes.” 

She came back into the bedroom, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s time we leave Lima then.”

Blaine blinked, and Quinn had zapped them to another location. A living room he didn’t recognize, completely filled with people he sort of did. They were all people from around town, Lima residents that he never bothered to know. Some were crying, others clearly had been; they were all dressed for mourning. 

“What happened?” Blaine almost didn’t want to know. Quinn tilted her head, and Blaine turned his gaze where she indicated. Kurt Hummel was sitting on the couch, Mercedes next to him with an arm around his shoulders. Kurt had the wrung out look of someone who would be crying if they hadn’t already expelled every tear from their body. 

“Kurt I’m so sorry.” Blaine did recognized that voice, and turned to see his brother Cooper reaching for Kurt, who stood and let Cooper embrace him. Blaine didn’t even realize they knew each other. “Your dad was a good man. I’m sorry about - everything.” 

“Thank you Cooper. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s, really. He’d been sick for a while.” 

Cooper shook his head. “Everyone deserves compassion.”

“What happened?” Blaine asked again, more insistent this time, but Quinn was walking away. Blaine followed her into the kitchen. “It’s Burt Hummel, I know that. Did something I do cause this to happen?” 

Quinn didn’t answer, she was staring at two people who were locked in an embrace, both crying. Blaine’s next question died on his tongue. It was Brittany and Santana, the spirits from earlier in the evening. 

“I miss her so much!” Santana was sobbing into Brittany’s shoulder. 

“I know. Me too,” Brittany said, her arms tight around Santana. “This was a terrible year.”

“Oh my god,” Blaine said. Looking back and forth between Quinn and the two of them. Quinn stared at them, looking confused, and then sad. She put a hand to her throat, as if to feel that it was still there. 

Quinn took Blaine’s hand. _We have to go._

\--

When Blaine opened his eyes Quinn was still holding his hand. They were in the lobby of an office building, or something like one. “What happened back there?” He asked. “They were crying over you, weren’t they? Brittany and Santana?” Quinn ignored him. “And what about Burt Hummel? Can you answer any of my questions or am I supposed to figure out what this all means by myself?”

_Broken heart._

“Broken heart? Broken heart?” He repeated. “What does that mean?” Blaine followed Quinn through a set of glass doors. 

_You aren’t by yourself. Not yet._ Blaine exhaled, loudly. He was more than a little exasperated. He felt like he’d seen everything he’d needed to already tonight, but if there were more specific lessons he should heed he was really going to need more detail. Unfortunately, it seemed that this particular spirit was not going to share many. _Here._

“Where are we now? What could be left to show me?”

They were in a reception area, somewhat sadly decorated for Christmas, with a few red and green streamers, hung behind the desk, and an artificial Christmas tree decorated in one corner. It wasn’t a hospital, but Blaine could see two nurses gathered together, chatting near the desk. At first, Blaine couldn’t hear what they were saying, but as he stood watching their voices became much clearer - no doubt through some magic his guide was practicing, because he did not move closer, and they were not speaking louder. 

“There are a few that don’t get many visitors,” one of them - a tall, younger nurse said. “But I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone at all in 12B.”

“Oh his brother comes sometimes, once or twice a year,” said the second nurse. “But not usually around the holidays. I imagine he’s got other places to be. I heard they didn’t have the best relationship. And he hasn’t himself said a word in the three years he’s been here.” 

“It’s so sad for some of them,” the first nurse replied. “ **Speed** ing towards the end.”

“It is,” said the second nurse. “But then, you get back what you put into the world, I suppose.”

_Come._ Quinn took his hand and led him through another set of doors and down a long hallway. Blaine had been on the edge of terrified the entire night, but now all he felt was a grave sense of defeat. They stopped in front of Room 12B. _Here._

The room was sparsely decorated, if you could say it was decorated at all. There was a television in the corner, but it wasn’t on. There were no photographs or framed pictures anywhere. There was one occupant, an older man who was sitting in a chair, staring out the window. Blaine didn’t have to ask.

“The future isn’t settled,” Blaine said. “You wouldn’t be showing me this if it weren’t fixable.”

_Perhaps. But soon._ She took his hand again, and Blaine was back in his apartment.


	5. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaine Advent words in this chapter: treat, user, verdict, worry, yearn

Blaine spun in a circle in his living room. Quinn was gone, and he was alone. “Quinn? Are you here? Quinn!” He tore through the apartment, confirming only that there was no one in it with him. “Is that all? Quinn? Am I done? Did I pass?” He realized he was shouting and when he paused to listen to the silence, he was interrupted one last time by the chimes of the church bells outside. 11:45. Not yet twelve midnight. Blaine wondered if there would be another visitor. He had questions. But his dad had said there would only be three spirits. 

It didn’t matter. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep. What if his dad showed up again? Or another spirit came to tell him he was too far gone, that he could never make up for the way he had **treat** ed people. 

Well he could stay up all night if he had to. Blaine grabbed a coke from the fridge and sat in his armchair. He held his phone in front of him, and he watched the minutes roll over. 11:49, 11:50, 11:51. When the church bells rang at midnight he would know for sure. 11:58.

_BONG!_

Blaine startled. “Huh.”

_BONG!_

He rubbed his eyes. “Who’s there?” He sat up and his phone fell onto the floor. 

_BONG!_

Blaine looked at his phone, not sure he wasn’t dreaming. The big numbers read 6:00. 

_BONG!_

“Six am?” He ran to the window, unlocking it so he could push it open and look out. The last two chimes from the church bell rang loud through the open window. It was grey but not dark, obviously the still of the morning. Outside he could see a snow plow clearing the street of what seemed like new snow. “It snowed?” The condensation from his breath made little puffs and he watched them float away. “It’s six am!” He stumbled back into his living room, grinning to no one and practically giddy. “I made it.” He double checked his phone,and it told him clearly that it was December 25. “It’s Christmas Day,” he said aloud, to convince himself it was real. 

Blaine had a lot of things to do, and he made a mental list of them as he showered and dressed and gathered his keys and wallet. He called down to the garage where he kept his car parked, and it was waiting for him when he exited the building fifteen minutes later. After starting the engine he found some Christmas music on the radio, and headed straight to the hospital.

\--

Blaine Anderson and his father may not have had a reputation as being the friendliest rich men in Ohio, but the Anderson Family Trust donated a fair amount of money to organizations throughout the region, and Lima General Hospital had been on the receiving end of more than a few millions over the years. There was even a cancer ward named after his grandmother. 

He wasn’t a regular **user** of the hospital’s services, and hadn’t been there in years, but when he pushed through the doors into the lobby, it looked nothing like he had remembered. Or, more accurately, it looked nothing like it had last night, when Santana had taken him on his unusual tour. For a moment Blaine wasn’t sure he should even be here, or that Santana had ever really existed. It was only a hunch. 

But he had to know. He could barely live with himself now, he would never be able to forgive himself if it turned out that everything that had happened last night had been true - even if it hadn’t been _real_. Gathering all of the certainty he had in him, Blaine approached the young woman sitting behind the information counter, her name tag said her name was Dana.

“Merry Christmas,” Dana greeted him. “Can I help you?”

“I sure hope so,” Blaine answered, at the last minute remembering to put on his most charming smile. He rarely smiled anymore, but he had a vague memory of someone once saying that people who smiled were happier. It was worth a try. “I’m looking for a friend, I think she was brought in last night.” 

Dana smiled back at him. “Okay, let me check our records. What’s her name?”

“Santana -” Blaine stopped. He had no idea what Santana’s name was, since he didn’t really know her. Dana looked up at him, clearly waiting. “I’m sorry,” he winced. “I don’t know her last name. We’d only met recently. I heard she was injured in the hit and run involving the carolers last night? I wanted to see if she needed anything.”

“Ah,” she said, only slightly suspicious. “I can look it up and if she’s here I can check to see if she is accepting visitors this morning. Can I have your name?”

Blaine grimaced. He wasn’t sure Santana - if she were real - would know him from Adam. “Blaine. Blaine Anderson.” Dana did the faintest double take, and blaine noticed her eyes tick over his left shoulder. When he turned he noticed the big gold letters on the wall that said “Felicia Anderson Cancer Ward” with an arrow beneath them pointing in the opposite direction. Blaine shrugged, taking a risk. “She was my grandmother.”

Dana mouthed _oh_ as she looked back at her computer screen. “I’m sorry Mr. Anderson. It looks like she was discharged earlier this morning.” That answered one question - there was a person named Santana who was brought in to the hospital last night. 

“So early in the morning?” The clock on the wall behind Dana said it was seven thirty am. 

“Well, it is Christmas. I think they wanted to get as many patients home as they could.”

“Oh, that’s good? Right? She must be doing okay then?” Blaine paused. “What about her friends, Brittany, or Quinn?” Blaine had been afraid to ask about Quinn, she had seemed to be in much worse shape than the other two.

Before Dana could look them up, several people entered the hospital lobby from a set of swinging doors marked **RESTRICTED**. There were two people in wheelchairs, and it was Blaine’s turn to double take, because they were Santana and Brittany, fingers hooked between them as what appeared to be family members pushed each of them into the waiting area. Without thinking, Blaine rushed toward them.

“You’re okay? Both of you?” His eyes darted between the two of them. 

“Who the hell are you?” Santana asked, more suspicious than angry, and Blaine stepped back a half step.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He held out his hand. “My name is Blaine Anderson. I heard about the accident last night, and it happened on the street below my apartment. I just -” Blaine stopped. What _was_ he doing there? “It seemed like a terrible thing to happen on Christmas, and I wanted to make sure everyone was okay, that you didn’t need anything.”

“Blaine Anderson? The snotty rich guy everyone in town hates?” Blaine opened and closed his mouth. Then he nodded. It was true after all. “Why would you care?”

Brittany had been watching them with interest, and tilted her head as if examining Blaine. “It’s okay San,” she said. “He cares. He’s new.” 

Blaine stared at her. There was no possible way that any of this was real. Except both women were here in the hospital and talking to him. 

“Well if you do care, you can help Quinn,” Santana looked from Brittany to Blaine. “She’s hurt really badly and has crappy health insurance, so they can’t afford the reconstruction surgery she needs to have on her jaw.” 

Blaine raised his hands in front of him, like an offering. “I’ll pay for it.

\--

It took longer to straighten out things at the hospital than Blaine wanted, since spending an extra hour there hadn’t been in his plan originally, but he adjusted. By the time he managed to convince the billing group that he was who he was, with a promise that his accountant would handle the rest the next morning, it was near nine am. Still early, but it was Christmas morning. He wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t remember the excitement of getting up hours earlier than normal, creeping down the stairs with hope in his heart. He had people to see, yes, but he didn’t want to ruin anyone’s Christmas morning joy. He hoped to contribute to it.

Once he was tucked in his car with the heat warming his outside, he called the first number on his list. 

“Merry Christmas!” Cooper Anderson called into the phone as a greeting. “I have to confess I didn’t really expect to hear from you today, little brother.”

“I know Coop. I,” how to explain it? “It’s just that I need to tell you some things. And they can’t wait.”

“Wow, this sounds serious. Do you want to come by? I’m sure I have something around here with your name on it. Bows and paper and all that stuff.”

Blaine laughed softly to himself. Cooper had been trying for years to be supportive, especially the last few after he had moved back to Ohio. Blaine just couldn’t get over the guilt of disappointing their father. 

“Thanks Coop, I have some things to take care of this morning, and I don’t want to wait.” Blaine paused, and he could hear Cooper sigh on the other end of the phone. “But, um, if you think you’ll be around tonight, I’d love to come by for coffee, or dessert?” For a long moment the other end of the phone was silent, Blaine couldn’t even hear breathing. “Coop?”

“I would love that, Blaine,” Cooper finally answered. 

\--

The next call on his list had a less predictable outcome. Blaine knew Cooper would be there for him, but Blaine had burned a lot of bridges over the years - he could afford to - and he didn’t know really who might still believe in him. But Blaine had to prove that he had changed, even if in the end it was only to himself. He hoped that the final **verdict** on his life wasn’t set in stone. 

By the time he parked his car in front of Sam and Mercedes’ tiny ranch house Blaine had nearly convinced himself to give up and go home. Somehow he didn’t. Maybe he should have called, but he was too afraid Sam wouldn’t help him so instead he rang the doorbell and stood freezing on the porch, still afraid he’d be rejected after all.

“Blaine? What are you doing here?” Mercedes’ opened the door, and Blaine was even less sure she would let him in. “It’s Christmas morning for goodness sake.” She didn’t invite him in. 

“I know, um. Hi. Merry Christmas.” Blaine shivered and hugged himself. “I’m sorry to interrupt your morning, it’s just that I -” He what? Had an epiphany? Realized what a horrible person he’d been for years? “I want to apologize.” 

“Apologize?” Mercedes actually looked worried. “For what? Did you join a twelve step program overnight or something? You had better not be here to drag Sam back to the office today. That is not happening.” 

“No. No.” Blaine kept moving his mouth, but he didn’t know what words to push out next. Now that he was here he didn’t know how - or what - to explain. His brain was still trying to work it out when Sam appeared next to his wife. 

“Blaine? What are you - oh my gosh you must be freezing.” Sam opened the door and let him into the entryway of their house. 

“Thank you.” He did at least remember to be polite. That was something. “I’m sorry, again, for interrupting. I won’t be long.” Blaine reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you,” he said, handing the envelope to Sam, who just looked at it and then back at Blaine. “It’s your bonus - Christmas bonus. I’m sorry it’s wrinkled. I probably should have got a card when I was at the hospital.”

“Hospital?” Mercedes leaned in closer to look at his face. “Did you hit your head? That would explain it.” 

“No, I didn’t hit my head. I had some things to take care of there.” Blaine said, but he could tell she wasn’t sure she believed him. “And I don’t mean to keep you. I actually have to be somewhere in about twenty minutes. But,” Blaine hesitated. It was asking a lot of Sam, and if he said yes this was just the beginning. He wasn’t even sure it would work, but he needed to carry it all the way to the end, for himself as much as anyone. “Sam, I know I don’t have much right to ask you, after everything, but I was hoping I could ask you for a favor.”

\--

“I have to confess, Mr. Anderson, when you called and asked if we could take care of something for you today, this isn’t what I expected.” Blaine stood, accepting the thick envelope from his lawyer before shaking his hand. “Can I ask, if you don’t mind, what caused you to change your mind?” 

Blaine sighed. He supposed he was going to get that question more than a few times over the next few days. “To be honest, I finally realized what I wanted out of my life.” 

And that was it, really. He was tired of suffocating who he was, making himself and everyone around him miserable; it was time to fix things. Not for the first time that morning, he hoped it wasn't too late. 

-

The next part would be harder, and not just because the streets of Lima had only been partially plowed, making driving treacherous. Blaine laughed aloud in the car. It would be just his luck to get into a car accident on his way to trying to make up for the terrible person he’d been for the past eight years. He did still **worry** that he wouldn’t be believed at all.

The slow drive to the Hummel’s wound up working in his favor. He recognized Sam’s car out front when he parked on the street, which was a relief. He wasn’t sure he’d be allowed inside without Sam running interference. He texted Sam to let him know he was there. _Come around to the side door_ Sam texted back, so Blaine trudged through the snow bank and up the icy driveway to the side of the house. Sam was waiting there to let him in, so he didn’t even have to ring the bell. 

“You can leave your wet boots here,” Sam said, indicating a rubber mat with a bunch of other shoes in various stages of drying off. “Everyone’s in socks.” 

“That’s, yeah - makes sense,” Blaine managed. “Is this okay?” He asked, turning to look at Sam. Sam shrugged, but didn’t flinch or look away.

“It’s a little weird, sure. But I told them you wouldn’t be long, and that it was important, and that you were leaving town tomorrow so it needed to happen today,” Blaine answered. “Just like you said.”

Blaine nodded. “Let’s do this then.” He followed Sam down the hall and into the family room, where everyone was gathered. Blaine was struck instantly how the whole scene was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. An almost too big for the room Christmas tree was in the corner, covered in mismatched ornaments, lovingly collected over the years. Over the fireplace hung three stockings, with Burt, Carol and Kurt embroidered on them. Mercedes was sitting next to Kurt on the sofa, and hers and Sam’s kids were on the floor, playing with gifts they had obviously just opened that morning. Blaine’s Christmas mornings had never looked so inviting. 

“Hey everyone, I think you all know Blaine Anderson, my boss - “

“And friend, I hope?” Blaine interrupted Sam, with a questioning look.

“And friend, definitely.” Sam looked at him and smiled, the lifetime of history between them warming his face. “Blaine and I have known each other since the sixth grade.” Sam carried on with the unnecessary introduction. “Burt you know, this is his wife Carol, and - “

“Kurt,” Blaine said before he could stop himself. “It’s been a long time.”

The expression on Kurt’s face was more one of confused curiosity than outright hatred, which was encouraging. Maybe this would all be okay. 

“Almost ten years, I think?” Kurt scrunched up his face in thought. Blaine nodded, not entirely sure what to say next. He didn’t know how to just say that he wished it had been different. He hoped he’d get the chance some time.

“Sam said you wanted to bring me something?’ Burt asked, shaking Blaine from his thoughts of Kurt. “I hope it’s not an eviction notice for the shop already.” Blaine couldn’t tell if he was trying to make a joke, but it didn’t feel like it. 

“No, definitely not, no,” Blaine stammered. He wanted to ask how Burt was doing, but wasn’t sure it would be welcome. “I guess I should, I wanted to bring you this.” Blaine handed Burt the thick envelope.

“Huh,” Burt grunted, his eyes narrowing as he took the envelope. “There’s a lot of paper in here. Why don’t you give me the digest version and I’ll read it all later.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Blaine scratched the back of his head, unable to stop himself from glancing at Kurt, but the expression on his face wasn;t one Blaine could read. “It's paperwork formally converting the purchase of Hummel Tire and Lube into a loan agreement that will allow the shop to remain operating independently, under your ownership as long as you need.” Blaine heard Carol gasp, but he glanced again at Kurt. His mouth had dropped open just a bit, but he closed it quickly. “If that’s okay with you? You could still take the offer if you prefer that.”

“No, no,” Burt spoke, but his expression had changed from one of suspicion to simply wary. “Do you mind if I take a look at the terms of the loan before I decide how I feel about this?” 

“Yes, of course,” Blaine clasped his hands together. “Take your time. I’ll leave word with my lawyer to wait for your call.” Burt nodded, and it seemed like a good time to disappear. 

“Blaine,” Kurt spoke. “We’re about to sit down for Christmas lunch. Would you like to join us?”

\--

Lunch was a bit awkward. Blaine barely knew how to behave with his own family, let alone someone else's, but when Kurt invited him he couldn’t say no. 

“Is your family still in Lima, Blaine?” Carol asked, once they were all settled around the dining table. 

Blaine cleared his throat. “Well, my brother is here, but our mother moved to Florida years ago, and she doesn’t come back to Ohio.” He didn’t add that he hadn’t actually seen her in years.

“You don’t see them for the holidays?”

Blaine hadn’t spent holidays with his family in years, but he was sure if he said that in front of this crowd there would be a mixture of sympathy, pity, and for those who knew him better, maybe a bit of private scorn. He didn’t deserve anything but the scorn.

“Nah, Blaine usually works on Christmas,” Sam answered for him.

“You work on Christmas?” Kurt asked, while helping himself to some delicious looking potato casserole. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

Blaine winced. “It’s not.” He paused as Sam handed him a plate of ham, and he took a slice and passed it on. “But I think those days are over. I’m headed over to my brother’s later tonight, and I’m actually leaving for New York in the morning.”

“Oh really? I live in New York,” Kurt said. “What are you going to do there?”

Blaine laughed quietly. “I’m not entirely sure yet.” 

From there conversation spread around the table, and Blaine could sit quietly and just soak it in. Watching Kurt, it was hard not to **yearn** for the life he never had, but Blaine didn’t want to mope about it. He had already changed. He may never have an opportunity again to really get to know Kurt, but he was on the road to setting things right, and he could settle for that for now.

After lunch was over Blaine followed Sam and Mercedes to the family room, where the kids went right back to playing with their Christmas gifts. Burt joined them while Carol and Kurt cleared the table.

“Anderson,” Burt said, once he was sitting comfortably in what was obviously his favorite chair. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Blaine answered, sitting on the couch, but near enough to Burt for them to have a quiet conversation. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. That was okay. Blaine wanted to talk. 

Burt shrugged. “Two weeks ago I was sure you were going to take my business. Your reputation is not unknown to me, Anderson. I knew if you wanted the shop I wouldn't be able to stop you.”

Blaine took a centering breath. The further away he got from the night before, the more everything that had happened had felt like a dream. It may even have _been_ a dream. But it didn’t matter. He was done with that life. “I didn’t want that any more.”

“What? The money? The business?” 

Blaine shook his head, not sure how much to share. But there was something about Burt that made it easier. “It wasn’t my life. I want _my_ life, and I think - I hope - I’m still young enough to have it.”

Burt considered him a while, studying Blaine. To his credit (Blaine hoped) he managed to hold Burt Hummel’s curious gaze. “Well,” Burt said with a chuckle. “You’re certainly young enough to do anything you want. And since I suspect money isn’t going to be a concern, I hope you choose what you want wisely.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said. “I hope I do as well. Do you mind - can I ask _you_ a question?” When Burt nodded, Blaine continued. “Are you feeling better?” 

Burt grunted, but not in an unkind way. “I am feeling better, thank you.” Kurt appeared then, standing next to Burt’s chair. 

“Yes but you still have a lot of recovering to do,” Kurt said. 

Burt frowned. Ignoring Kurt, he spoke directly to Blaine, “Apparently I still have a lot of recovering to do.” He thumbed over his shoulder at Kurt.

“Yes, and I’m going to be here for a while making sure you do just that,” Kurt answered anyway. Blaine smiled, watching their banter. He remembered back to when they were in school together, that Kurt had always said he’d had a great dad. Blaine excused himself as they continued to argue playfully over Burt’s condition, and found himself standing in front of the Christmas tree. 

Every year when he was little, Blaine wanted to decorate the Christmas tree, but his parents had other ideas. His father always wanted a more utilitarian tree, few decorations, all the same color. His one allowance he gave Blaine’s mother was that she could pick the color, so every year the tree was decorated a different color. Silver one year, red the next, green the next, every ornament precisely placed for the perfect magazine photo holiday spread. 

But the Hummel’s tree was covered in a jumble of mis-matched, obviously well loved ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and types. There were vintage glass bulbs, tiny wooden Santa heads, and homemade felt circles that looked like something Blaine had a vague memory of making himself in kindergarten. There was a palm sized Millenium Falcon that blinked, a glass ball with the Ohio State University logo on it, and green construction paper trees shedding glitter all over. Blaine smiled as he looked at them all, taking in every ornament and imagining its history. 

He was laughing at a green glass pickle when he saw it. _A palm sized nest with two yellow canaries perched on either side. Three small, aqua, realistic looking canary eggs settled in the center of the nest._ Blaine swallowed. It couldn’t be possible. It was identical to the ornament on the tree at the hospital. The one the mysterious little girl led him to last night.

“It’s a mess, I know.” Kurt appeared next to him, and Blaine startled.

“No, it’s beautiful,” Blaine said, staring at the ornament. He looked at Kurt. His mouth was parted as if he was going to say something else, but Blaine had to know. He pointed to the nest. “Where is this from?” 

“Oh, my gosh,” Kurt said. “It was my mother’s. I think she had it from when she was a little girl. I’m always surprised when it comes out of the box and it’s still in one piece.”

Blaine wanted to shout or scream or anything, it was too much. Of course it was possible that there could be two of them, but to Blaine, it was the final confirmation. Whatever he had experienced, It had been real. And it had led him back to Kurt. He was _supposed_ to be here. 

“So I’m going to be in Lima probably for another month,” Kurt was talking, and Blaine had to refocus his attention to get all the words. “But when I’m back in New York, would you like to get together for a drink, or dinner or something? Catch up?” Kurt was smiling at him, inviting him to dinner? 

“Yes,” Blaine managed to say. “Yes, I would like that a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed this weird little idea I had last year at Christmas time.   
> Klaine Advent 2020 is just around the corner!


End file.
